Apocalypse Please
by verbal acuity
Summary: One-sided Imperial - Atobe loses his mind over Tezuka's rejection of him - angst. oneshot.


**Author's Note: **This was inspired by the Muse song "Apocalypse Please Instrumental." Listening to it made me think of broken mirrors, and thus, this came along. I feel like a terrible person. This is by far the most emo thing I've ever written. Enjoy!

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**Apocalypse Please**

The horrifying noise of mirrors upon mirrors shattering sounded throughout the cold, dark, murky 'household,' the culprit hidden beyond a shadow. His home was _huge_, and he had a lot of walking to do. This was something he wanted to do own his own, no commanding snap of his fingers, no orders; just him and his once immaculate hands. He couldn't bear to see anything anymore. Especially not himself.

_How could he…How could he…?_

His mind echoed those three words, over and over and over again, never freeing him from the pain he felt inside and out. The pain, the rejection. He had never been rejected before in his life, had he? No, he hadn't. He hadn't because he had always been so perfect, so beautiful, so…flawless. No one could beat him in flawlessness, skill, or beauty. Except one person.

_Tezuka Kunimitsu._

First he reacted in anger. He had made it home in one piece, thankfully, but as soon as he got there, the outcome wasn't…pretty. He had taken to forcing his fingers into his hair, tugging and pulling and screaming out mad. All he could do was scream. He was rejected by the one person he felt like that towards; the one person that could rival him in looks, in tennis. The Seigaku captain himself.

_How dare he…How dare he reject me, Atobe Keigo._

He was no longer himself. He no longer _cared _about himself. And he no longer _loved _himself. He wasn't the Atobe Keigo that Hyoutei knew. He wasn't the Atobe Keigo that his 'fans' knew. And he definitely wasn't the Atobe Keigo that _Tezuka _knew. Never again would he be that Atobe Keigo for _anyone_.

_What was there to reject…? Really, Tezuka, what was there?_

Even low on resolve, low on confidence, he still held that natural arrogance, though that was quickly fading, as well. His love interest, the one person that caught his attention, had told him flat-out no. What was he _supposed _to do? Go home like nothing ever happened? Did Tezuka really think that the Hyoutei captain could do that?

_Look at me. I'm—_

He saw his reflection; his hair all tangled, sticking out at angles that he, or anyone else, for that matter, would ever imagine. His eyes were red, not bloodshot like that demon brat's, but red, nonetheless. Had he been crying? He never even felt the tears. But he could see them—the wet streaks down his face from the drying tears. Atobe Keigo, captain of the Hyoutei Gakuen Tennis Club…had been crying over some stoic rival captain. Oh, the irony.

_I look terrible…_

And with that, he grasped the mirror that hung upon the wall, tight in his two immaculately perfect hands and lifted, lifted the mirror high above his head—high enough to get good enough leverage to throw it right back down. The echo the shards of the mirror made as it shattered was sickening…sickening like someone slammed their hands down on the keys of a piano randomly, a surreal noise contrasting to the normal pianissimo beauty of the keys' sound. If he wasn't right in the head, he'd think someone _did _slam their hands down on a piano.

_Disgusting. Fickle. Broken. Get out of my sight!_

He glared as he saw his reflection in over one-hundred separate little shards, fists clenching almost to the point of being white as death. He bit his lip so hard, blood drained out, spilling down his chin, staining his usually perfect, flawless skin. With one sickened glare, he slid his foot quickly across the floor, kicking the sharp shards away from him, hating the sight of his reflection. He never wanted to look again.

_I hate you…I hate you…I hate you…!_

His only thoughts were the ones of malice towards himself…and Tezuka Kunimitsu. Even Fuji Syuusuke. He couldn't stand them or himself. He couldn't handle it anymore. He didn't even want to live anymore…didn't care anymore. He cared not for tennis, for friends, servants, Tezuka, regular rivals. He. Didn't. Care.

_This does not happen to Atobe Keigo! This doesn't happen to…to…_

He frantically ran through the entire Atobe mansion, bleeding from various places; he needed to smash every mirror, every object that would show him his reflection. He had deep gashes in his legs, feet, hands, lips, _face_. He was no longer flawless. Everything would develop into scars and he'd have to use something to cover it all up. Atobe Keigo was no longer Atobe Keigo…and he never would be again.

"Apocalypse…Please…"

His voice sounded from nowhere, echoing almost as sickeningly as the violated piano keys, the broken mirrors, and his own heartbeat. He sighed in relief once he watched the last mirror shatter, his blood-stained feet sliding the shards away to hide his reflection. He allowed himself a cold, bitter smile as he leaned his back against the wall, eyes closing; slowly he slid down the wall and hit the floor with a quiet thump. It was all over. There was no horrifying reflection for him to see. All he was left with…were the scars of the mirror as they cut him when it shattered. Atobe Keigo…was no more.

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**End Note: **Erm…angst, yay? XD I'm sorry, I was at the peak of insanity today…and had to share this. I'm sorry. Well…I don't think Atobe died, I just think he followed me to the cuckoo's nest. :3 All's well that ends well. I love Atobe, really I do.

Please review!


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